


a grain in the universe

by mafuyuukis (aslanjades)



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/mafuyuukis
Summary: In space, those celestial things are hundreds of miles large. From Tokyo, Japan, they’re small enough to pinch between his pointer finger and thumb. From their perspective, straight up into the air, past the clouds and atmosphere, Yuki is invisible.But the boy tucked into his arm with mussed auburn hair atop a head full of thoughts makes him feel something contradictory.Alternatively: Yuki thinks about life, love, and Mafuyu on the scale of the universe.
Relationships: Satou Mafuyu/Yoshida Yuuki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	a grain in the universe

YUKI YOSHIDA IS JUST A SPECK IN THE INFINITELY LARGE, INFINITELY INFINITE UNIVERSE.

Mafuyu hates when he says that (“you’re not a speck,” he once replied with eyebrows knitted together, completely stoic. “You’re a human being.”) but Yuki heard it somewhere sometime and adopted it as the quote that best represented his existence in space and time. When one really thinks about it, sitting down and dissecting the words type of thinking, there’s comfort in reducing yourself to a relatively meaningless particle among billions and billions of other relatively meaningless particles. Your mistakes mean nothing. Your pitfalls are nearly nonexistent. Your decisions amount to so much less than they seem to; when there’s so much shit going on, that’s what Yuki needs most. 

For example, as he lays on the floor, the blanket stolen off the top of his bed beneath him doing little to protect his back from the unforgivingly solid wood, and stares through his skylight at the stars and moon overhead, he feels small. In space, those celestial things are hundreds of miles large. From Tokyo, Japan, they’re small enough to pinch between his pointer finger and thumb. From their perspective, straight up into the air, past the clouds and atmosphere, Yuki is invisible.

But the boy tucked into his arm with mussed auburn hair atop a head full of thoughts makes him feel something contradictory. Just looking at him in the dim light the sky is generous enough to give off, his lips are parted like they always are, as though he has something to offer but holds back. Where his neck meets his shoulder, there’s a canyon Yuki loves running his thumb over. The top button of his shirt is undone as it always is, revealing lovingly sculpted collarbones. And every now and then, he absentmindedly hums a few notes strung together in the sweetest, most melodic way. Mafuyu never tries to make it sound good, but it _does_ because he’s _him_.

If they were truly specks, Yuki thinks, there wouldn’t be so many details that make Mafuyu so lovable, yet he can go on and on. Specks are all general. Mafuyu is like a painting composed of hundreds upon hundreds of brushstrokes.

“You’re staring at me.”

At Mafuyu’s words, his first in at least twenty minutes, Yuki lips spread into a grin, the gesture lopsided and boyish. There’s no use in denying it; he _was_ staring at him. He couldn’t—can’t—help it. “You’re cute.”

Mafuyu blinks, and, after a moment’s contemplation, shrugs. “You’re not bad either.”

“Fuck off,” Yuki laughs before leaning in, an action that Mafuyu reciprocates almost immediately and completely naturally. With that, they blend together, lips on lips, legs tangled together, hands on cheeks and in hair—they’re perfectly clothed, yet it’s perfectly intimate. There’s no way of telling where one ends and the other begins, and it doesn’t matter—on most days, Yuki isn’t sure what they are because they kiss and touch but they aren’t exactly together, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that they’re two halves of one whole. 

He’s in love.

When they pull away from each other and untangle their limbs (only slightly though, because with being intertwined comes comfort), they both let out a contented sigh, resulting in simultaneous laughter at how young and stupid they are. As the sound dies down, their eyes return to the sky, but this time, their hands are slotted together and their hearts, alight.

“What are you thinking about?” Mafuyu asks. 

“You.”

And with that declaration, Yuki sees Mafuyu turn to look at him out of his peripherals. He turns his head too, until his cheek is up against fleece and he’s staring into curious amber eyes rimmed with black, and he swears the sky and everything it carries falls away in that moment. It’s just the two of them and the gravitational pull between their hearts that makes his chest ache.

“What about me?”

“What you would say if I told you I love you.”

There’s a pause, as though the question is one with an intricate answer. Yuki waits, because he has time. So much of it. As much as Mafuyu needs. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Well,” Mafuyu starts, “You would have to say it first.”

Yuki cracks a small smile, lifting their clasped hands between their faces. Both he and Mafuyu look at how they’re joined physically, then back into each other’s eyes. And with the weight of every kiss, every brush of skin, every moment shared among the two of them over the years, Yuki says, “I love you.”

After the words settle for a moment, Mafuyu reaches forward and, with his free hand, cups Yuki’s cheek before placing onto his lips a kiss that’s soft and warm and wordlessly expresses the three words in question. But he pulls back and whispers “I love you” in response, like it’s a secret just between the two of them, anyway. 

As Yuki feels his heart ignite again, the inferno even brighter this time, he disentangles their fingers and links his pinky finger with Mafuyu’s, drawing the rest of his fingers towards his palm. “Always.”

Because he can’t imagine a world without him, Mafuyu replies, “Forever.”

And it’s solidified. As if it was silently agreed upon, neither of them attempts to unlink their pinkies immediately—almost like they’re letting the promise manifest, sink in, and bond itself to them. They don’t expect themselves to break it, but the act proves to whatever force that oversees them that they are more than willing to take on the consequences of that improbable circumstance. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Risk. Faith. 

So there their pinkies remain, and Yuki’s mindset rearranges. Theoretically, he is just a speck among other specks, a particle that, the grand scheme of things, means nothing, and there is comfort in that. But it’s infinitely more comforting to know that a perfectly arranged slew of decisions and chances led him to Mafuyu, and everything he does shapes his future with him.

So he’ll throw the towel in just this once—he won’t voice it to Mafuyu, though, since he’s a little too prideful to admit defeat—because Mafuyu makes him feel big. Like every move he makes counts for something. And Yuki doesn’t give a fuck about his size in the comparison to the moon or the stars or the sun when he’s with him, because all of that is right there, wrapped into the glowing eyes of the boy he loves. And God, does he love him.


End file.
